


Christmas Stories from Baker Street 2017

by Mouse9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: A collection of three stories for the holiday season.





	1. The Case of the Ugly Holiday Jumper

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies, these are not Brit Picked, so ignore the corner Santa. (that's the American in me assuming) Also, do not allow any children that still believe to read this over your shoulder.  
> Enjoy!  
> These were written by my Secret Santa @Iamtheno1cumbercookie on Tumblr

  
The interns had a running bet.

Not for money, just for little things. 

If Clayton didn’t want to do the cleaning of the labs at end of shift?  Bet.

If Fred was on deck for “body transfers” that day and didn’t feel up to it?  Bet.

If Liz didn’t want to do inventory?  Bet.

Usually it was small bets; how many times Dr. Stamford would walk into the lab when Dr. Goolask was working.  How many times Inspector Lestrade would check his phone when he came in, one bet per visit because there were days he could show up three different times and it wasn’t fair to lump all of those together. How many times Dr. Hooper would stammer over her words when a certain Consulting Detective would stride into the lab.  Although, coinciding with that was how fast it would take Lawrence to escape the lab when the same Detective came in.  Some days it was amusing to see the assistant trip over his own two feet in a desperate attempt to not be caught out by that all knowing gaze.

Little games, designed to break up the tedium and make the day go by faster.  If it amused them and got them out of jobs not wanting to be done, well then, all the better.

With the holiday season approaching, there were an abundance of odd jobs to be done and therefore an abundance of bets taking pace during the morning and afternoon shifts. 

 

“Tomorrow is Ugly Holiday Jumper day,” Clayton said as the interns were building testing tray sets.  The three of them were sitting in the clean room sterilizing the equipment and packing them into neat testing trays for convenience. 

“Yeah, so?”  Fred was pulling a tray of now sterilized tools from the machine, and placing them on the table to be packed.  His mask moved as he breathed.  “I’m not wearing a holiday jumper tomorrow if that’s what you’re asking.”

Clayton gave him a look from over his own mask.  “No, oh God no.  But, Dr. Hooper is working tomorrow.”

“Clayton, if you’re suggesting starting a bet on whether or not Dr. Hooper will be wearing an ugly jumper tomorrow, that’s hardly a bet.”  Liz said.  “She is the queen of horrid jumpers on a good day, you can bet she’s going to take special care in wearing the most ridiculous holiday jumper she can find.  That’s not even a real bet.”

“I know that.”  Clayton insisted.  “That’s not the bet. The bet,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling up from over his mask as he looked at his associates.  “The bet is how long it takes Holmes to get rid of it.”

“What, the jumper?”  Fred asked.  Clayton merely continued grinning.  Liz sealed up the tray in front of her and leaned over the work table. 

“You know something we don’t?”

“I might have been talking to Grace in the canteen who said that she and her mate Loralee spotted the two over by Grosvenor’s Square looking a bit more than friendly.”

“No.”  Liz sat back in her seat with wide eyes behind the white mask. 

“You’re saying they’re…together?” Fred asked.  Clayton shrugged. 

“I’m not saying anything of the sort, all I’m saying is I have an evening shift next week with Dr. Kinder and a party on the same night where I have the opportunity to chat up the lovely Briana from the coffee shop down the lane.”

Liz pulled another tray towards her and slid on the plastic wrap.  “I don’t know, I hate working with Kinder, he always smells like fish.”

“That’s the beauty of the bet, Liz.”  Fred joked.  “I think Grace and her mate are seeing more into it than there is.  Everyone knows Grace low key ships those two anyway.  I have two days in a row of end of day shift and all the cleanup involved.  I’ll see your evening shift with Dr. Kinder and raise you those two end of day shifts that Holmes will make a scathing comment about her jumper and she wears her lab coat for the rest of the day.”

“Liz?  You in?”

Lis finished steaming the ends closed and put the tray on the stack, her lips twisting beneath the mask. 

“We’re all here tomorrow, right?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”

She thought for a few moments more before deciding. 

“Right, I’m in.  I work the day shift on New Year’s which means I can’t go out New Years’ Eve. What even is your bet Clay?”

“That he’ll talk her into taking off the jumper within ten minutes of seeing it.”

Behind him, Fred shook his head.  “Nope.  He’ll get her to take it off herself or cover it for the rest of the day.”

“Need a time frame Fred.”

“Eight minutes.”

The two men looked back at Liz.

“Well?”

“I’m putting a lot of trust into Grace here,” Liz said slowly.  “But what the hell. Four and a half minutes before he either demands she take off the jumper or destroys it himself.  I wouldn’t put it past him to toss coffee of something on it.”

“Four and a half minutes?  Really?”  Fred asked.  “It’s going to take that long for him to actually notice her in the first place outside of ‘ _Molly, I need the body of Mr. Jenkins, the one who died in a horrible piano accident.  I think it’s murder._ ’” 

The intern flipped up the collar of his lab coat and puffed around the room as he spoke making the other two to chuckle at his antics.

“Fred’s right,” Clayton said when they’d calmed down.  “Four and a half minutes is an incredibly short time.  He doesn’t even usually look at her when he comes in for at least ten minutes, if he ever does.”

Liz merely smiled.  “Nevertheless, I’m sticking with my bet.”

The two men shrugged as they got back to work.  “It’s your funeral Liz.”

 

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon was horrific.  The display of horrid holiday jumper on display around the hospital was truly mind boggling.  Anyone who didn’t have to wear scrubs was wearing an ugly jumper.

The three interns almost tripped over themselves not to laugh when Dr. Hooper walked into the lab that afternoon with the worst offender on.

It was red with a Christmas tree that actually lit up covering the majority of it.  In the middle of the tree there was a cat poking it’s face from the branches, but the face was actually a stuffed cat head attached to the jumper.  It was horrible, it was tacky and if it didn’t win Dr. Hooper first place, then the interns would eat the ballots.  Clayton couldn’t even hold back an exclamation when she walked in tugging her lab coat on. 

“Good Lord!”

The pathologist looked up with a huge grin on her face.  “Oh, afternoon all, lovely day outside.  I think it’ll snow this evening.”

“Dr. Hooper…” Clayton stopped, not quite sure what to say.  Liz had to turn around to keep from laughing at the atrocity currently covering her boss.  Fred merely shook his head. 

“If you don’t win the contest Dr. Hooper, we’re demanding a recount.”

If anything, her grin grew wider.  “Isn’t it awful?  I found it at a rummage shop and just knew I had to buy it.”

“Are you going to even be able to work in that?”  Clayton asked. 

“I don’t have any autopsies on the list today but if something comes down, I do have a blouse on under this.  I can just freeze while working for a bit.”

Fred sidled up to where Liz and Clayton were standing as Dr. Hooper stepped into her office to pick up the list of orders needed for that afternoon. 

“I say losers have to buy winner lunch as well as the winning bet,” His voice was low so as not to be overheard.  “Because that truly is an awful jumper.”

“I’m okay with that.”  Liz answered.  “I’m not sure how anyone would be able to ignore that jumper.”

Clayton glanced back towards the open office door.  “I don’t know.  With the lab coat on, he probably still won’t notice for a bit.”

“You’re forgetting Dr. Watson.”  Fred said.  “Trust me, he’ll notice it which will more than likely get Holmes’ attention.”

Liz smirked.  “This is all hinging, of course, on if Holmes even comes in today.”

 

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, the contest was finished, Doctor Hooper had won with her last-minute submission and the interns were wrapping up their part of the work day when Fred heard muffled voices down the hall. He waved towards his fellow interns and each slowed down on their end of day cleaning, so they could watch the proceedings from a secure vantage point.

 

Molly was finishing up a couple of ordered tests when the doors to the lab opened and Sherlock Holmes strode in followed by John Watson. 

“It’s a small get together, Mrs. Hudson asked for it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s two hours in the afternoon, you won’t even be home.”

“She’s two John, there cannot be that many single mums in Rosie’s day care class.  I’ll not have a mess of toddlers in my flat.”

“You have Rosie.”

“Rosie is different, and you know… what in fresh hell is that?” 

Sherlock stopped midstride causing John, who was looking down at his phone to run into him. 

“Dammit Sherlock.”

“No.”  the detective stated.  John stepped around the taller man in time to see Molly glancing up from her worktable and give the Detective an odd look. 

“Afternoon.”

Sherlock strode towards her, pulling off his great coat as he went and tossing it on the first empty chair he passed. 

“No.  Molly, no.”

She looked distraught. 

“W-what?”

From the intern’s vantage point, they could see the horrified look on Sherlock’s face and realized he deduced what she was wearing without barely a glance. 

“Dammit,” Clayton hissed quietly.  “Liz might win this.”

Liz was grinning widely and looking between her watch and the proceedings happening in front of them. 

His hands were reaching for her lab coat before he even stopped walking.

“Sherlock,” Molly protested as he began tugging the coat off.  “What are you…”

Even John was baffled.  “Have you lost your mind Sherlock?”  His bafflement turned to horror as the lab coat was fully tugged off and he caught sight of the jumper underneath.  “God Lord Molly!”

Before Molly could speak, Sherlock was tugging at the jumper. 

“Up.  Hands up now.”

“Sherlock!”

“You’re wearing a blouse under this monstrosity.”

“But it’s cold in here.”  She protested.  His hands halted in their upward path, his eyes dropping from her face to her chest.  The three interns had to cover their mouths as they snickered to keep from being discovered. 

“Hand up.  Now.  Or I get the scissors.”

“Three minutes thirteen.”  Liz whispered. 

With a bemused smile, Molly finally did as bid and lifted her hands.  Sherlock tugged upward, and the jumper came off with one smooth tug.  He tossed it to the side and glancing down at her again, pulled off his own suit coat and slid it over her arms.

“But you’ll get cold.”  She protested. 

“I have my coat.”  He said.  “I’m burning this.  No arguments, it’s getting burned.  Right now.  Stay here.”

He tugged the suit jacket around her, bent down to scoop the jumper from the floor and turned back towards the door.  John, who was still in shock from actually seeing the jumper turned as his friend left the lab. 

“Where are you going?”

“Incinerator!”  came the answer. 

As the doors rocked shut, Molly turned around to the snickering interns. 

“Well?”  she asked, picking up her lab coat and slipping it on over the suit coat.  “Who won?”

“Yes!”  Liz cheered.  “Three minutes fifty-five.”

“Dammit, I had plans on New Year’s Eve too.”  Clayton groused.

John looked from the three interns to Molly and back. 

“What is going on around here?”

“I figured he’d just say something about it and you’d button your lab coat up.”  Fred said.  “Clayton bet ten minutes before he’d talk you into taking it off yourself.”

Molly looked at John, amused.  “The interns do running bets for things they don’t want to do.  Mostly harmless.  When they said something about my jumper at the beginning of my shift and then suddenly stopped working the minute they heard you two walking down the hallway, I figured they’d bet how long it would take for Sherlock to notice my horrid jumper.”

She looked back at the three interns.  “You’re all lucky I’d already won the hospital contest.”

“So…”  John still looked confused.  “You’re okay with the fact that he just ripped a jumper off your body and tossed it in the incinerator?”

Molly giggled.  “I paid two quid for it just for the contest.  It’s okay, he’ll make it up to me.  Meanwhile,” she turned back to the three interns.  “Your shift is over, you three get out of here before I let slip that you’re making bets regarding he and I.”

“Night Dr. Hooper.”  Liz said, grabbing her bag and pushing the other two out in front of her.  They could discuss payments on the main floor, away from Sherlock Holmes.

She spotted the Detective stepping back into the hallway, with a satisfied smirk on his face as they entered the elevator.  What she wasn’t about to tell her two fellow interns was that she was with Grace and Loralee that fateful day at Grosvenor’s Square when they’d spotted Dr. Hooper and Sherlock Holmes at the local chip shop.  She had first-hand knowledge watching the two interact on that cloudy afternoon in a quiet semi private corner of the shop just how friendly of terms the two were currently on. 


	2. The Case of the Lost Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight year old Rosie Watson has a case she needs solved and only he can give her the answers.

“I want to hire you”

The childlike voice suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere from the direction of his sitting room.  Sherlock poked his head from the kitchen.

Eight-year-old Rosie Watson stood just inside his doorway, small fists clenched at her sides.  He squashed down his first involuntary question: _Does your father know you’re here?_  because obviously if John knew where his daughter was, he’d be here with her.

The second obvious yet involuntary question that sprang forth:   _How did you get here?_ was also squashed.  Young Watson was intelligent enough to know how to get to Baker Street by either taxi or train.  To prove it as he stepped into the sitting room, the small blonde pointed towards the landing.

“The taxi needs money, I didn’t have any.”

“Sit.”  he ordered, hurrying past her and grabbing his wallet and phone from the fireplace mantle as he passed.  “Your chair.  Don’t move until I return.”

He hurried down the stairs to pay the taxi driver.  Luckily it was one of his regulars.

“Afternoon Mr. Holmes.”

“George.  How much?”

“Twenty-three quid. Picked the young Miss up from Adlington.”

Sherlock handed over the notes and thanked the driver.  He unlocked his phone as he stepped back into Baker St. and texted John.

 

**Rosie is at Baker St. She’s fine. SH**

 

“Now Miss Watson,” he said as he stepped back into the flat.  Rosie, who was sitting in the chair deemed “Watson’s” turned to look at him.  “What is this nonsense about hiring me?”

“I wanna hire you.”  She repeated as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the Consulting Detective to be hired out by eight-year old’s.  Although there had been a couple.   She began pulling coins and notes from the backpack sitting on the floor beside her.  

“I don’t have much money, but I hope it’s enough.”

“Put your money away   Rosie-mine, I’ll not take it.”

“I’m serious.”  Her blue eyes glinted like icy steel and Sherlock felt the old familiar pang of loss when he saw Mary in her look.  “I have a case and I need you to solve it.”

She was serious.  As much as an eight-year-old could be.  

Sherlock crossed the room and sat in his chair, across from her, giving himself a few minutes more to look her over.  Tear-stained face, agitated posture, red cheeks, papers poking from her open backpack.  Someone had upset her.

“Why don’t you explain what you wish to hire me for and then we’ll discuss payment.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he spoke, and he slid it out to read the message.

  

**WHAT!  JW**

**I’ve been looking all over this bloody school for her! JW**

 

“I want you to prove that Father Christmas is real.”  Rosie stated.

 

Oh.

**OH!**

_Oh._

He was in no way prepared to destroy his eight-year-old God daughter’s belief system.  Especially a belief system that had been expressly forbidden by John, Mrs. Hudson and Molly that he was not even to express a peep about.

He watched her silently waiting for her to continue ranting.  If she was upset about something, he found that just standing there and allowing her to stomp around and shout about it usually led to her discovering the solution on her own.  His Rosie was extremely clever.  

This time, however, she merely stared at him, daring him to refuse her.    As if he could refuse her anything.  

Mary had been gone these past eight years and while he missed her every damn day, as Rosie had grown, she’d effortlessly slipped into that hole he had in his rarely used heart where her mother occupied for the short time she’d been in his life.  Rosie only had to ask, and Sherlock would fight metaphorical dragons for her.  He would do anything for her.  

Including upsetting everything she believed in and thereby regulating him to the couch to sleep for who knew how long when her Godmother discovered what he had done.

“What happened?”

“Jack said Father Christmas was a myth.”  The story exploded from her and frothed over like a raging volcano.  “He said that our parents give us our presents, that they lied to us about a magical man who comes and brings us presents.  Katie said only babies believe in Father Christmas.  So, I pushed her.”

“Rosamund.”  he admonished.  

“She made me angry!”  Rosie exploded again, a smaller one this time as her vitriol was quickly running out.  Her eyes reddened again, and Sherlock pushed back the usual panic he got when the woman around him began to cry.   “You never lie to me Uncle Sherlock. You promised me you’d always be truthful with me no matter what.  I trust you to tell me the truth.”

Sherlock sighed heavily.  Caught in a web of his own making.  He could practically hear Mary’s cackling laughter behind him.

“I did promise Rosie, but first, are you sure you want an answer to your question?   It doesn’t matter what the truth is, it only matters what you believe.”  He folded his hands underneath his chin and studied her. “Answer me this Rosamund, what do you believe?”

Rosie sat on the edge of the chair, her nose scrunching up in thought.  She knew that if he countered with a question, there was a reason for it.      

“I believe in... something,” she hedged.  “It’s hard to get into our home and my presents are usually split between my house and here and there’s no reason for Father Christmas to drop presents here.  Plus, there is no way one man can get around an entire world in a night without the use of a time and space machine or a teleporter, neither of which have been invented yet.”  She looked up at her, her blue eyes watery.  “But why do parents tell this story and their kids continue it when they become parents?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour?  He stood up and held out a hand.  Rosie climbed from the chair and slid her small hand in his larger one.  He led her towards the sitting room window, pulling back the sash and picking her up.  She was still light enough that he could do this although her long legs made it difficult to navigate anywhere.   Her legs wrapped around his waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck.   He stood in front of the uncovered window and nodded towards the picture outside.  

“Observe young Watson.  What do you see?”

 

People were bustling around the sidewalks, arms ladened with packages and bags.  On the corner was a bundled-up figure ringing a bell next to a red bucket.  Several people dropped coins in as they passed.  A group of people stopped just in front of the walk across the street and chatted pleasantly for a bit before going their separate ways.

“People talking.  Putting money in the bucket.  Lots of packages.  A pickpocket’s dream really.”

Sherlock laughed loudly, before planting a loud kiss on her temple.  

“I adore you Rosie-mine.  You have been around me far too much.”

She grinned back at him.  Mary’s grin.  

“The attempted larceny aside, there’s something about this time of the year that brings out the best in most people.  Father Christmas was a real person in the sense that there was a St. Nicholas.  But an actual man who rides a sleigh led by eight reindeer that can fly, no.”

 Rosie took in his words, her brow furrowed as she stared out the window in contemplation. 

“But…why do parents lie?”

Sherlock walked back from the window, Rosie still in his arms, towards his chair.  He let her down and she waited only long enough for him to get comfortable before she scrambled up onto his lap. 

“It isn’t that they lie Watson,” he began.  “Rather the world we live in is cruel and harsh and rife with generally not nice people.  Most children see the world not as it is, but as some sort of magical and wonderful place. There’s a kind of magic in the air around this time of the year where people aren’t as cruel or impatient as they would normally be the rest of the year.   Your dad just wants you to have that magic as long as you can before real life crushes your soul.”

“So…I shouldn’t be mad at Dad and Aunt Molly and Nana Hudders?”

“Rosie, we all love you and we try very hard to keep you somewhat ignorant of the evil that truly happen out in the real world.  They more than I admittedly. You are a very clever young lady and you have an ability to think outside the box that I admit I cannot do at times because I’m jaded.  If you tell anyone I said any of that, I will firmly deny it and return your Christmas present.”

Rosie grinned excitedly.  “You got my Christmas present?  What did you get me?”

“And spoil the surprise?  Your Aunt Molly would kill me, and I have cases to solve come the new year.”

Rosie curled up in his lap, resting her head against his chest.  His hand came up to stroke her blond hair and pull her snug against him.

“Thank you, Uncle Sherlock.  I promise to let Dad think that I still believe in Santa for another year or so.”

“I’d appreciate it, Watson.”

“You’re going to make a great Dad.”

He snorted lightly.  “I have you Rosie, I hardly need any other children.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.  “But don’t you and Aunt Molly want kids?  They won’t be as adorable as me but, they’d still be kind of cool.”

His lips quirked upward as he continued to stroke her hair.  “Your Aunt Molly and I are…complicated Rosie, I very much doubt children are anywhere in my near future.’

The door to the flat slammed shut and was followed by heavy footsteps on the staircase. 

“Ah, it seems your father is here Watson.  Do try to go easy on him.”

Rosie remained where she was as her father ran into the open door of the flat, face red in fear and anger.  She felt Sherlock’s grip tighten on her for a mere moment before relaxing as her full name was shouted in terrified exclamation.  Reluctantly she slid off Sherlock’s lap and was snatched up in a fierce hug. 

“You scared the hell out of me and your Auntie Molly!”  John shouted.

“You called Molly?”  Sherlock asked as the sound of the main door slammed shut again followed by footsteps. 

As Rosie looked over her father’s shoulder to the relieved face of her Godmother as she came into view she thought about what her Godfather had said, how this makeshift family she had loved her and only wanted to protect her and keep her innocent of the terrors that await her as she grew.  She held back a knowing smile as she watched Molly shoot a concerned look over their heads to Sherlock and hoped she was here when her Godfather found out what Molly was giving him for Christmas.  For all his talk sometimes, he didn’t truly observe what he saw around him.  Especially when it was someone close to him.

 

                                 


	3. Another Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of Sherrinford, John feels a Christmas Party is the way to ring in a new year. But there are still ghosts of Christmas Parties past that linger.

It had been almost five years since the last Christmas Eve Party in the Baker street flat.   The uncomfortably awkward gathering of people in Sherlock Holmes’ life that had led to frustrations, things that shouldn’t have been said and a faked death that wasn’t his.

The party had been John’s suggestion, a sort of celebration to ring out the nightmarish bad year and to welcome in what everyone hoped would be a much better coming year.

Mrs. Hudson, as usual, begged him to play some Christmas songs on his violin and he complied without complaint.  One after another, just to see the smile on her face.  She deserved any and every small happiness and if playing Christmas songs for an hour or so made her smile, he’d do it.

He finished off the last one with a flourish to applause.  Lestrade had arrived sometime during his playing with a brunette woman in an off the shoulder red jumper.  He swallowed back observations and instead took a small bow.

By the fireplace, talking with John, there was a woman he didn’t recognize.

_Crème tunic and silver tights, red lipstick, leaning towards John indicates physical attraction…oh._

With a start he realized John had invited a date.  That realization led him wondering where Rosie was which led to…

“Where’s Molly?”

Mrs. Hudson looked up at him from the chair she sat in with her glass of wine. 

“Oh, I saw her arrive some time back, she mentioned something about popping up to see Rosie.”

_Which meant Rosie was upstairs._

He laid his violin and bow in the case and quietly slipped from the flat while everyone was occupied.

 

He wasn’t ignorant of the fact that Molly would feel uncomfortable here on this day.  He had to invite her several times, insisting that he did indeed want her to come, before she was even willing to accept.

He climbed the stairs leading to the next landing quietly, not wanting to wake Rosie if she was indeed sleeping. 

The soft sounds of a radio playing Christmas song and someone singing along told him Rosie was awake.

Reaching John’s room, he slowly pushed up the door, catching the scene playing out before him.

Molly held a laughing Rosie in her arms, bouncing her and dancing around the room singing along with the radio.

 

_I wrapped it up and sent it, with a note saying ‘I love you” I meant it,_

_Now I know what a fool I’ve been,_

_But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again._

She spun Rosie around, a smile on her lips as the baby squealed in laughter, chubby hands holding on tight to Molly’s plain red jumper, her little blonde head thrown back in joy.

Sherlock’s heart clenched at the words she sang.  After Sherrinford there had been no huge declarations. No grand gestures.  Those had been given over the phone and he’s seen how those words could destroy.  It didn’t mean he didn’t mean them, he did.  He always would.  It meant he couldn’t ever bear to see the look of pain he’d seen on her face when he’s said it, admitted it to both of them.

They had talked after and he had apologized for any pain he caused. She had forgiven him and they had moved forward.  But until he could be positive that the utterance of those three words by him wouldn’t bring that look of pain to her face when she heard it, he kept them to himself, contenting himself by showing her how he felt in action and gestures rather than words.

They spun around and Molly halted when she spotted him by the door watching them both.  Rosie, who was still giggling, held out a chubby arm for him once she spotted him. 

Grinning he stepped further into the room, reaching out to scoop the laughing baby from her arms.

“I didn’t hear you come up.”  Molly said, as he moved his head back, avoiding fingers that were reaching for his hair.  Rosie instead grabbed at the lapel of his suit jacket and tugged, throwing her body back and laughing. 

“She wants you to spin her.”  Molly explained.  Rosie threw her body back again as if confirming what Molly had told him and he grinned wider. 

“Is that right?  That’s what you want?”  He rocked back and forth then spun slowly around.  Rosie hiccupped in laughter and squealed again when he dipped her low, one hand going behind her head to keep her steady.  Molly was laughing when he straightened, and another song was playing softly on the radio.

 

_I won’t ask for much this Christmas,_

_I won’t even wish for snow,_

_and I just wanna keep on waiting_

_Underneath the mistletoe_

He held out a hand towards her and Rosie followed, babbling happily, the other hand still clutched onto his lapel. 

“Dance with us.”  He said.  Molly raised her hands and took a step back shaking her head. 

“Oh no, you two are fine.  You don’t need me mucking it up.”

Rosie babbled something, her fingers making grabby motions towards her. 

“I don’t think she wants to dance with us, Watson.”  He told the baby in his arms.  Rosie squealed again and made another grabbing motions.  He raised an eyebrow. 

“How can you resist a request like that?  And we will always need you.”

Her smile was softer this time as she took a step towards them, then another, a hand reaching out to take Rosie’s outstretched one.  Then she put her hand in Sherlock’s and he pulled her into a small circle, the two of them and Rosie in the middle, one hand on Sherlock’s suit coat, the other on Moly’s jumper, throwing her head and body back so they would spin her. 

With a shared look, they leaned forward, dipping Rosie low.  The baby laughed loudly, her fingers clutched on the material as they pulled her back up.   Tucking both Rosie and Molly closer to him, the three swayed with the music, Rosie calming down and yawning, finally leaning her head against Sherlock’s chest as they swayed. 

 

_Christmas Eve will find me,_

_Where the lovelight gleams,_

_I’ll be home for Christmas,_

_If only in my dreams_

The baby’s eyes drooped as they danced, finally closing and falling asleep against her Godfather.  As her hands let go of Molly’s jumper, falling to her side, Sherlock tugged Molly closer to him, his free hand wrapping around her waist as they continue dancing.  Smiling, she rested her head against the other side of his chest and wrapped her arms around both he and Rosie.  He dropped a kiss against her head, smiling.  It was moments like this he cherished now, held close.  Moments where everything was understood, and they could just…be.

 

* * *

 

From the shadows of the hallway Mrs. Hudson watched the three dancing silently to Christmas music.  She’d seen Sherlock leave and had been worried when he didn’t come back down after a while. 

Smiling, she reached out and tugged the door closed a bit more so as not to be interrupted by the noise downstairs. 

John met her at the landing as she made her way down. 

“Is everything okay?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him. 

“Everything is perfect dear.”

 


End file.
